


Does This Darkness Have A Name?

by befreckledblake, damonsbonbon (befreckledblake)



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:48:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3804220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/befreckledblake/pseuds/befreckledblake, https://archiveofourown.org/users/befreckledblake/pseuds/damonsbonbon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prompt: The setting is after Damon rescues Bonnie from the other dimension. The plot is that Bonnie has had a nervous breakdown due to her time alone with Kai. She suffers from nightmares and she is basically a shell of her former self. Since she is so messed up that some people would like to commit her to the hospital. Describe how Damon handles this situation and recalls Bonnie to life. You can mention Augustine vampire, if you want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost

Her screams are loud enough to wake the entire household, but Damon is there before anyone else has time to react. He bursts into her room, fangs out and a snarl ripping from his chest, ready to rip her attacker to shreds.   
  
It takes him a long, confusing moment to realize there  _is_  no attacker.  
  
She’s the only one in the room, sitting with her back pressed against the headboard of the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest and her head cradled in her hands. The blankets are a tangled mess at the foot of her mattress, and pillows are strewn all over the floor.   
  
“…Bonnie?"   
  
Her entire body is shaking; even from across the room he feels every tremor, every shudder that rips through her. He takes a few steps closer, forcing himself to stop a few paces away from the bed to avoid crowding her.  
  
"I’m fine.” She whispers softly, a broken mantra that does nothing to settle the panicked thrumming of her heart. She takes a few stuttering breaths, her voice hitching in her throat, and curls herself up into a tighter ball. “I’m fine.”  
  
“Bonnie, look at me.” He moves toward her with exaggerated slowness, worried anything else might set her off. But she doesn’t even seem to realize he’s there. She keeps her head down, hiding her face and mumbling the same words over and over under her breath. He sits on the edge of the bed beside her, hesitates, then tentatively reaches out a hand, placing it awkwardly on her shoulder.  
  
Her head snaps up, wild, unfocussed green eyes locking with his. Her pulse spikes, fear radiating off her in waves so strong he can taste it on his tongue. She throws her hands up between them and he braces himself for one of her famous witchy migraines, but nothing happens.  
  
“ _Bonnie_.” He says, more firmly this time, and when she doesn’t respond he grabs her hands, pulling them away from her face. “Snap the fuck out of it."   
  
He forces her to meet his gaze, blue against green, and for a moment all he can see staring back at him is terror. She’s utterly consumed by it. But he pins her in place, filling her vision, invading her space in a way only he truly can. Somehow, that’s what manages to break through to her. He watches as the blind fear slowly begins to fade. Her heart rate begins to slow down, her breathing settling on a regular rhythm. Her eyes focus on him, and there’s a spark of recognition in them. He expects her to recoil, or snap at him for even daring to touch her, but she doesn’t.   
  
"Damon,” It comes out as a whimper, and then tears are spilling down her cheeks and she’s letting out sharp, keening sobs and he doesn’t know what to do because this is Bonnie  _fucking_  Bennett, the girl with a backbone made of titanium. She would sooner die than show even the slightest sign of weakness, and here she is, literally falling to pieces right in front of him.  
  
He releases her wrists, and before he has time to talk himself out of it, he reaches out and wraps his arms around her. If she’s surprised, she doesn’t show it. She leans into him, resting her head against his shoulder, her broken sobs muffled against the fabric of his shirt.   
  
“I can’t get him out of my head,” she hiccups, trembling in his arms, her fingers clutching frantically at his chest. “Every time I close my eyes…”  
  
He cups her head gently, running a hand slowly through her hair. He doesn’t say anything, just holds her, rubbing soothing circles against her back and dropping soft kisses onto the top of her head until her body stops shaking and her breathing slows to a low, steady rhythm. Sleep claims her, but this time he’s making sure the nightmares stay away. He leans forward to lie her gently against the mattress, careful not to wake her. He’s pulling the covers back over her when he realizes they aren’t alone after all.  
  
“She needs help, Damon.”  
  
Stefan leans in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, a permanent expression of worry on his face. Some things never change.   
  
“I know.” He says softly, running a hand distractedly through his hair, mussing it up at the front so that it stands up in messy spikes. “My little bird’s a fighter. She just needs someone to remind her of that.” It pops out of his mouth so easily he doesn’t realize how it sounds until it’s too late. Stefan’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline - which is impressive, considering all of the broody forehead in between - but, thankfully, he doesn’t comment. After an extremely awkward moment of silence, in which Damon busies himself with counting the wooden panels in the ceiling, Stefan steps slowly into the room, expression slipping easily back into that of concern.  
  
“The others have been talking,” He says warily, averting his gaze. “We think…We have an option we haven’t explored yet.”  
  
“Right.” Damon snaps, suddenly livid. “You leave her to rot for 6 fucking months, and  _now_  you want to help?” It’s a low blow, and he doesn’t relish the pained look that flashes across his brother’s face, but he doesn’t like the idea of them brainstorming about her like she’s some broken toy that needs fixing.   
  
“She’s sick, Damon.” Stefan says softly, his eyes falling on the girl in question. “She doesn’t eat, she doesn’t sleep. Jeremy says-”  
  
He’s off the bed and across the room, slamming Stefan against the wall with enough force to dent the panelling. “That little punk,” He hisses, digging his fingers into his brother’s shirt, “doesn’t know shit. None of you do.  _You weren’t fucking there_.” His hands are shaking with rage, his teeth grinding together so hard he’s sure they’re going to crack.   
  
“Neither were you.” The words hit him harder than his brother ever could. He recoils, snatching his hands back like they’ve been burned. His eyes flash to his brother’s face, expecting to see anger, or smug satisfaction, but he’s met only with pity. That look is a thousand times worse.  
  
“You can’t blame yourself for this, Damon-”  
  
“ _Don’t_.” His voice shakes, rage and guilt fighting to overpower him, but he pushes it all back. “This isn’t about me. It’s about her.” He turns his back on his brother, walking stiffly back over to the bed. Tossing the scattered pillows around, he unburies that stupid teddy bear of hers and sets it gently beside her sleeping form.   
  
“Elena wants to bring her to the hospital,” Stefan eventually says, keeping his distance this time. “She thinks it might help with the PTSD.” He doesn’t hang around for another wrestling match; stepping out into the hall, he casts one last glance into the room. “If you have a better idea, brother,” He whispers, “go for it. She needs you.” Then he closes the door quietly, leaving Damon alone with his thoughts.  
  
A better idea, huh?  
  
He eases himself onto the bed beside Bonnie, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, the steady beat of her heart filling the sudden silence in the room.  
  
Damn straight. Damon Salvatore always has a plan B.  
_  
_To be continued…__


	2. Found

She can’t sleep without Damon.

The nightmares worsen, growing darker and more believable each day until Bonnie’s almost convinced that her dreams are reality and her freedom from Kai is something her mind has only made up to preserve the last shred of sanity she has left.

She eventually finds herself back at the boarding house, Miss Cuddles tucked under one arm, a pair of pajamas and all her toiletries in the bag hanging from her other wrist. Damon greets her with that eyebrow thing that he loves to do, and she can practically feel the wise cracks forming in his head, but he doesn’t say anything – just steps away from the entrance to give her space to come inside.

“Thank you.” She mumbles softly, the words wooden and tasteless in her mouth. It comes to her as a quiet afterthought that these are the only words she’s spoken today.  
He lifts one shoulder in a lazy half-shrug, pushing the wooden door shut behind him.  
She takes one of the guest rooms, the one she’d sort of inhabited during their time together on The Other Side. Stefan doesn’t ask any questions, only stops in to remind her that if she needs anything, anything at all, she shouldn’t be afraid to ask.

This has somehow become a place where she feels protected, safer than even her own home. And still, every time she closes her eyes, a world of terror is waiting to greet her.

***

The third night, instead of holding her while she sobs, waiting for her to cry herself back to sleep, Damon offers her his hand.

“Let’s go,” he says softly, his face hidden in the darkness, impossible to read. His hand hovers in front of her, palm up, waiting.

She doesn’t really have much left to lose, does she?

Taking his hand, Bonnie lets him pull her out of bed.

***

“You know,” Damon begins, facing away from her, head craned back to look up at the night sky. “I’m not exactly a stranger to torture.”

She’s not as flinchy as she’d been only a few days ago, but she can still feel the panic flaring up at just the mention of that word.

 _Torture_.

Something about saying it reminds her of the act itself; the way it twists around in her mouth, contorts to make the right sound.

“And I know you’ve decided to take some kind of lame-o vow of silence,” Damon continues, evidently unaware of her internal struggle, “which would, normally, make me _unbelievably_ happy. But it’s kinda conflicting with the whole ‘I’m fine’ thing you had going earlier.”

He’s trying to rile her up, she knows this. She can hear it in his voice, the false bravado, the ‘could care less’ attitude he’s spent so many years trying – and failing – to perfect. But more than that, she can see it. It’s in the way he holds himself, leaning toward her even when he’s looking away, like he’s afraid she might collapse at any moment. It’s in the way he looks at her – and the way he _doesn’t_ look at her. He thinks he can push her to some kind of breakthrough, but he’s afraid he might push her too far.

She wonders if reading Damon has always been this easy, or if it’s something she’s picked up over the last few months.

“I don’t want to talk about torture.” Bonnie says, finally, the word tasting like hot lava in her mouth. “I don’t want to talk about anything.”

If he’s surprised by her response, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t even turn around; just keeps walking, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, perfectly at ease with the world.

“I can do all the talking. I happen to have a lovely voice.” It’s funny, though, that in some odd way he’s right. Hearing Damon’s voice again, Damon, of all people, makes her feel just a tiny bit safer. He reminds her of _home_ , somehow. Maybe because, on the Other Side, he was her home, and that feeling hasn’t quite faded away yet.

But the panic, the fear, the _pain_ – none of that has faded, either. It’s just there, in her head, in her chest, this feeling of helplessness that she can’t find an escape from.

They walk through the forest quietly for a few moments, the soft crunch of dirt and leaves under their feet filling the silence. She still doesn’t know where they’re going. She doesn’t really care.

“Do you know what I hate?” Damon asks, pushing open an old rod-iron fence with one hand and beckoning her through with the other, and then she realizes where they are, and there’s a tightness in her chest that makes it hard to breathe. “I hate when people try to make decisions for me. Drives me insane. Even more insane than normal – I know, hard to believe right?”

He glances at her, smug smile in place, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Even in the darkness, that icy blue stare is impossible to miss.

“Why are we here?” She asks, her voice cracking. She swallows thickly, trying to push down the lump that’s forming in her throat. “I don’t want to be here, Damon.”

She doesn’t want to think about these things. The nightmares are bad enough – being here now will only make things worse.

“Bonnie,” he says softly, watching her with those piercing eyes, careful and hesitant and all of the things she doesn’t expect him to be, “Kai can’t hurt you anymore.”

Just his name is enough to make her stomach heave, her mouth run dry.

“I know I wasn’t there to protect you, and I can’t ever apologize enough for that. But I want you to know that I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Her head is spinning, and it’s taking all of her energy to remind herself to breathe, _just breathe_. He’s still watching her, making no move to close the distance between them. She focuses on his eyes, bright blue gems glinting in the darkness, full of certainty and the promise of safety and warmth, and suddenly the world isn’t spinning anymore.

“So many bad things happened here,” she whispers into the silence, her eyes still fixed to his. “I can’t be here, Damon. Please.”

He takes a small step forward, then another, until he’s close enough that she can smell him, not just that ridiculous but somehow irresistible cologne, but _him_. It makes her feel safe, that smell, safe and warm and protected, even here in this place where she’s really none of those things. One of his cool hands slips into hers, tugging, first lightly then more insistently when she doesn’t move.

“Come on,” he mutters, half pulling, half dragging her through the darkness, her stubborn feet dragging miserably behind them. She stumbles and trips a few times, but he never lets her fall. Their hands stay firmly clasped. After what feels like an eternity, they stop, and she takes a hesitant peak around. The mausoleum is a familiar one, as are the headstones littering the area.

Damon pulls her so that she’s standing right next to him, their shoulders brushing. His hand still clutches hers. “Look,” he says, pointing with his free hand, “that’s where I found Miss Cuddles.”

She knows what he’s trying to do, but it’s not going to work. _Nothing_ is going to work.

“Damon –“

“Do you know,” he continues, ignoring her attempted interruption, “I thought about giving up on you. I thought maybe you were dead, that there was no way to bring you back.” He gestures behind them now, the hand clutching hers tightening almost painfully. “I sat on that _fucking rock_ , with a bottle of whatever alcoholic beverage seemed appropriate, and _said goodbye to you_.” He laughs then, a twisted, broken sound, his face turned away from her. “And then, there she was. That stupid stuffed bear. And just like that, I knew, I _knew_ what a coward I had been. You were fighting or every breath, struggling to come back to us, and I was ready to just fucking let you go.”

Her fingers are starting to go numb, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s seen many different sides to Damon, but this… This is different. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do for this Damon.

“Don’t you get it yet?” His voice is low, a rough whisper, and when he turns to face her Bonnie’s shocked to see tears in his eyes. “You never gave up. Not on me, not on any of our friends, not on yourself.” He lets go of her hand, blessedly, the blood stinging her fingers as it rushes through them. His hands instead go to her shoulders, squeezing gently. “So I don’t care how long it takes, or what I have to do. I’m not giving up on you, Bonnie. Not this time. Not ever again.”

They stare at each other, his hands resting firmly on her shoulders, his face damp with tears. His eyes burn into hers, so bright and so blue it makes her heart ache. He’s so full of hope, she thinks, and it hurts to look at him. It hurts to know that hope is so tragically misplaced.

She closes her eyes, shutting him out, shutting it all out.

“I’m broken.” She whispers, her throat raw, the ache in her chest growing with every word. “I’m broken, Damon, and you can’t fix me.”

“So what?”

It’s a response she isn’t expecting. She opens her eyes again, staring at his defiant, incredulous expression.

“We’re all a little cracked, in case you haven’t noticed.” His hands leave her shoulders slowly, skirting softly up her neck until they’re cradling her face. He brushes her cheek lightly with his thumb, his other hand moving to gently brush her hair out of her face. “I’m not trying to fix you, or make you perfect.”

His hand continues to caress her face, soothing circles drawn gently into her skin, the only thing that’s holding her together.

“The things you’ve been through… I can’t even imagine the pain you’ve felt. But you _survived them_ , Bonnie. You’re a fighter. A survivor. Yeah, you came back with some battle scars, some serious fucking issues. But _you came back_.” Damon closed the little distance left between them, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath blowing against her face in short gasps. “Don’t give up now, not on yourself.”

“I don’t know what to do.” Bonnie says, tears silently streaming down her face, the ache in her chest threatening to burst. “I don’t know how to make this pain go away.” She slaps a hand to her chest, clawing at her shirt, desperate to get it out of her. “I can’t make it stop,” She gasps, and then she’s sobbing again, deep, shaking wails that render her completely useless. Damon pulls her into him, cradling her gently to the ground, letting her scream and cry and until there’s no air left in her lungs, and she pauses to suck in great bouts of air and starts the process all over again.

She feels it pouring out of her, the grief, the pain, the rage. The tightness in her chest bursts, and it’s like a never ending fountain of emotion streaming out of her, and he bears it all.

“It’s okay,” She hears him murmuring softly, one arm rubbing soothing circles into her back as she sobs, “it’s okay. You’re okay.” It only makes her cry harder.

She cries for her Grams.  
She cries for her Dad.  
She cries for Caroline and Elena, who never asked to be what they are, but managed to embrace what life had chosen to give them.  
She cries for Stefan, for his endless crusade to be good.  
She cries for Damon.  
She cries for herself.  
She cries for her lost innocence, for the life she could have had.  
She cries for the sacrifices she’s had to make.  
She cries for all the times she was beaten and broken and defeated.  
She cries for every time she got back up again.

She cries, for a long, long time.

When she’s done, when there are no more tears left inside her to shed, when the pain in her chest dims to a low, dull ache, she looks up at Damon, whose arms have kept her warm and safe and sheltered. She looks up at him, and for the first time in a long time, she smiles.

Not perfect, she thinks, or fixed or beautiful. Just something _whole_.

Fin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been....a very long time. I know. I apologize to everyone who has waited for this. Thank you to everyone who DID wait, I'm sure it wasn't easy for you. 
> 
> This is very rough, and very rusty. I haven't watched TVD since, well, Season 6, and it was a struggle to find Bonnie and Damon's voices again. I hope I did them enough justice. 
> 
> (Also yes, I'm shameless, and snuck in a fraction of one of my poems. It just felt right. I had to.)


End file.
